


Never Quite The End Of It

by Corvid_Knight



Series: Mutantstuck [28]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Chatlogs, Gen, Mutantstuck, family reunions ig, posting this at a stupid time! please tell me to fix shit later, you have no idea how long i procrastinated on it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:40:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24564766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: "How long did it take you, D?""To—" Oh. To figure out how the hell to deal with the fact that you're never going to see your sister again. "I don't know. It felt...like forever. A couple years, I guess. It hurt for longer than that—hell, it still hurts if I think about it too long. Used to feel like I did something wrong, like I was the reason I lost you and her both."The StriLondes prove that nothing's quite so broken that it can't be put back together again.
Series: Mutantstuck [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1309922
Comments: 57
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

The memory card's tucked into a photo sleeve along with a pair of polaroids; you roll your eyes at the sight of the face-up one—yourself, fifteen years ago at _least_ , with a grin on your face that annoyed the shit out of the photographer because he wanted a specific image that didn't include that kind of bright and overjoyed smile. He had to settle for it anyway, though, because your dumb excited baby self couldn't quit smiling for even one minute. Not while _that_ was happening.

No real clue why this one's stored with the family pics instead of with the rest of your promotional pics, but eh, it's fine. Then you flip it over and see the matching picture on the reverse, and _totally_ get it. "Yo. Ambrose."

"Busy." Your brother doesn't even look up from the laptop that the twins hooked up with about three levels of available conversion; right now you think he's going through a VHS tape of random shit from when Dirk and Roxy had a thing for trying to record everything they saw. Can't be much worth isolating and printing out for Reaux's album on that, so you don't feel too bad about spinning the sleeve across the table at him like an angular frisbee.

...and it bounces off his forehead. Hits edge-on and leaves a mark, too. Damn. You shrug when he curses and shoots you a glare. "Hey, I tried to get you to look."

"Fucker." Ambrose rolls his eyes and picks the sleeve up from where it's fallen onto his keyboard, pausing to hit a key to halt the video onscreen before he really takes a look at the pics. "Huh. Wait, this was the promo for your...third movie, right? Why the fuck did they set it up like a halfassed police lineup again?"

"I had a weird publicity agent. Flip it over."

"No shit you did." He turns the photo over when you tell him to, hissing in a breath when he sees the pic of himself on the other side. "Oh. _Shit._ Why were you taking pics of me when I was beat halfway to hell, exactly?"

"Oh my fucking god, look at that and tell me that you weren't posing for it." Sure, he's turned half away from you, shown in bruised and sulky profile, but the image is sharp and clear enough that you can see how he's looking at the camera, golden eyes half-lidded and conscious of both the camera and his own pose. _Performing_ , almost. Maybe more than almost. "Seriously, you don't remember that?"

"Mm." It's a noncommittal sound, but your brother's expression's gone thoughtful as he flips the sleeve back over to your picture again, checking the obvious similarities between the pose you took at a photographer's request and the one you caught him in through the lens of an instant camera. "You had a premiere."

"Oh. Yeah. That's what these were for—posters or something—"

"I went and picked a goddamn fight the night before so I could get out of going to it with you." Ambrose says it bluntly, sounding a hell of a lot more like he would have in California fifteen years ago, before Texas for him and New York for you, when the kids were still your babies and there were still three siblings for you to turn to. He flips the sleeve again, staring at his own face. You don't really want to beat a dead cliche here, but you'd go so far as to call it a _brooding_ look, even if that does bring up some weird mental images. "I never told you that. Did you know anyway?"

"No." It probably would have hurt a lot more if you'd worked that out at the time, and you vaguely remember being more...well, amused. Lil' bit sorry for him, too—he'd had a broken nose, after all, and a shit ton of bruises that didn't show until you coaxed him into taking off the stupid (and probably stolen) jacket. "You got arrested just to get out of putting on a tux, huh?"

He _almost_ grins. Just barely catches himself, in fact. "I mean. Getting arrested wasn't exactly in the game plan—some asshole called the cops."

"Ambrose."

"Hey, they let me go."

"Because you used your phone call on Roxanne instead of me and she did _more_ crime to get you out faster, you _dork._."

"...fair." Ambrose shrugs, tipping the sleeve so the memory card slides out and dropping the photos on the table beside his laptop. "Not meaning to get arrested still counts for something though, right?"

"Mmm, if you say so. You think Reaux wants those for her project?" (You already know she doesn't. What she's putting together is a family thing, not a chronicle of all the Strilonde family shenanigans.)

But Ambrose is shaking his head even as he slots the card into the appropriate hole. "Nah, I want it for my poor choices book."

"...why do you have one of those?"

"Uh, so I have something to look at when I'm considering doing something stupid?" He rolls his eyes at you, then turns his attention to the screen as he scrolls down. "Damn, this is like a two-year timeline of people you dated."

"Ooh. Burn them to a flash drive, I need to show Wade." You probably won't be able to outdo even the incomplete list of conquests, seductions, and flings that you've heard about from him over the course of your relationship—some of his exes you've met, and half of them aren't even human—but it'll be neat to go through them and see if there's any overlap. "Got any baby pics on there?"

"Lil' bit early for Dirk, sorry. You've got the folder that'd have those over there, though..."

"No I don't?" If you'd found the baby pictures, you wouldn't still be digging—the whole point of helping with this for you at least was getting to see your adorable darling baby. And also having something to embarrass him with. Helping your sister is definitely number three on the priorities list. "Where?"

Ambrose points without even looking up. You follow his finger... _shit_ , how did you miss that? Right on top of the pile.

And he has the nerve to snort when you pounce on the damn thing, too. Hopefully you'll find something else worth throwing at him soon.

([source for picrew used](https://picrew.me/image_maker/119816))


	2. Chapter 2

The photos aren't the end of it, of course. Shit's never quite that easy when your family's involved—something about trauma, something about the reluctance to deal with emotional shit immediately and upfront, something like that. Maybe. You don't know, but...

royaltyReincarnate (RR) started pestering technicolorGladiator (TG)!

RR: D   
RR: fuck it.

royaltyReincarnate is offline!

Goddamnit. It's...damn, 1:37 AM. You should be asleep. Ambrose should also be asleep, even if he obviously isn't. Wade _is_ asleep, well enough that he hasn't even twitched through the process of your pulling back from him and reaching for your phone at the sound of the soft triple chirp you have set as your message alert. He doesn't move when you kiss the back of his neck, either. You take that as an auspicious omen for your plans for the immediate future...but you're still careful as you scoot back from him, making sure you don't pull the blanket off of him as you slide to the edge of the bed and then off of it. He's probably still going to wake up just from losing you as the big spoon...but anything you can do to let him get just a little more sleep is worth it. 

Right. Ambrose. Where is Ambrose? 

Eh. It's got to be one of two or three places, with one being slightly more likely but all of them plausible—and yeah, sure enough, the obvious one's the right one to check first. You find your brother in the television-lit darkness of the main room, hunched over on the couch with photos spread across the cushions and the coffee table in a pattern that almost looks random. 

_Almost._ And that illusion only lasts until you really look at them; then you see the same face looking up from each one. "Hey." 

"Yo." Ambrose doesn't look up as you carefully transfer photos from the couch to the table. He just sits there with his hands in his lap, hair fallen across his face so you'd have to touch him to tell if he's watching you. Damn, his hair's almost grown all the way out again...you need to coax him into letting you trim it, fixing how fucking uneven the length is since it was hacked off. 

But that's later. "Seems like a weird time to be doing your scrapbooking, bro." 

"Uh-huh." As soon as you're sat down, he leans against you. No movement other than that; you resist the urge to roll your eyes as you wrap an arm around his shoulders. You _know_ he wants closer contact than that. "I wake you up?" 

"Eh, doesn't matter." He did, but if you'd been properly asleep in the first place you wouldn't have heard the text notification. Besides, he's your _brother_. "Thinking about Roxanne?" 

Ambrose hesitates for a moment before he nods, head falling against your shoulder with the end of the motion. He doesn't twitch away when you reach up to brush hair out of his eyes; when you get it clear, you see that he's closed his eyes. "I couldn't sleep, yeah. Miss her." 

"I'm sorry I asked you to go through all the old shit," you tell him. That's got to be a big part of this—the reminder that she left, that she's left, that she's _not here._ You should have known better. 

"Nah, 's not just that." He breathes in deep, holds it for a second, and lets it out with a shudder that he doesn't quite cover up by shifting to slip an arm around your waist. "It's—fuck. How long did it take you, D?" 

"To—" Oh. To figure out how the hell to deal with the fact that you're never going to see your sister again. "I don't know. It felt...like forever. A couple years, I guess. It hurt for longer than that—hell, it still hurts if I think about it too long. Used to feel like I did something wrong, like I was the reason I lost you and her both." 

"I was just a fucking asshole." 

"The guy in secure containment at the bottom of the ocean or wherever they put him is an asshole, yeah—" 

"No. _I_ was. And I spent—five goddamn years, getting watched 'n shocked 'n picked apart 'n making the decision to not _be_ an asshole, because of me being a mutant sure, but also 'cause of _her_ —" 

He stops. Cuts himself off like someone somewhere hit a command key. You squeeze his shoulders gently. "And then you came back." 

"The kids brought me back." Another little nod against your shoulder. "Had to deal with—with that. Coming back, all the shit I missed. The whole I-ain't-me thing. Workin' shit out with Dave, workin' shit out with Jeff...not fuckin' dying when _he_ came back. Another goddamn set of earthquakes to get over." 

"I know. I'm sorry." 

"It's all over. All that. It's all done and I'm sitting here in the middle of the goddamn night, D, not sleeping—fuck, it's like I'm fourteen again, can't sleep, can't get up 'n work because someone'll hear except this time it's the kids instead of asshole foster parents—and I pick up my phone and I think, oh, it's been fuckin' forever si—since I called her. And I—" 

Alright, he's obviously not going to take any actual action, and you know he hates breaking down. "C'mon, Ambrose. It's okay, c'mere." 

He still won't move on his own, but he lets himself be pulled around so you can wrap both arms around him and hug him up closer. It's a good ten seconds before his hands come up to get a grip on the back of your shirt (well, Wade's shirt that you've appropriated for night wear) and his head drops down so he can bury his face in your shoulder. 

You don't say anything. Not when Ambrose starts shaking, not as he struggles to smother every tiny pained noise that tries to force itself out, not when he finally runs out of energy or emotion and just goes still and quiet against you. Your brother needs comfort and contact, not words, and you're here to provide it. 

"I miss my fuckin' twin," he mumbles, eventually. "I'm so fuckin' _tired_ , D." 

Yeah. You can't do anything about the first thing, no matter how badly you want to. As for the second one... 

"Come on, then. Up." 

And he lets himself be moved, and he lets himself be led out of the room and up the stairs, all the way to your room. Wade's awake when you settle next to him and drag Ambrose down to the bed, but only barely. 

Enough to talk, though. "Heyyyy...how come I'm the big spoon?" 

"Because it's weird if you're the one cuddling my brother." He can't be _that_ irritated about this turn of events, if the way he's nuzzling at your neck is anything to judge by. "Wade." 

"Mmm?" 

" _Wade._ " 

Ambrose makes a tired, amused sound, reaching back over his shoulder to tug at the blanket. "He bullying you?" 

"He's sure trying—Wade, if you leave marks there I swear I'll sic Rose on you— _ow_!" 

"Sorry, that was instinct." Wade makes a noise that's suspiciously reminiscent of a laugh, kissing the spot where he just bit you. Not kissed, not nibbled, _bit_. You bet there'd be the imprint of teeth there if you went and looked. "I have problems with authority." 

"Uh-huh, sure. Catch me kicking your ass after coffee tomorrow." 

"Wouldn't miss it." 

"I'll get it on tape," Ambrose mumbles. "Just shut up for now, yeah?" 

You guess he has a point. Wade must see it too, because after one more kiss he settles down again, tucking his face between your shoulderblades. Alright, good, perfect. Back to sleep, then.

* * *

Ambrose is up before either you or Wade the next morning, and the pictures are gone when you make it into the living room. Maybe that's the end of it...but somehow, you don't think so.


	3. Chapter 3

It _isn't_ the end of it, but you don't realize that until days later, when you're on a video call with Reaux discussing plans for Rose's upcoming birthday (so far the plan is for you to figure out the venue and catering, while your twin handles decor and possible entertainment) and Neet materializes in a puff of black feathers, just this side of the closed door. 

_"Hello, Neet."_ Reaux waves as the crow flaps up into the frame of the camera, landing on the arm of your desk chair. _"I'm sure we can use your expertise here, if D would care to serve as translator?"_

"Or she _could_ talk so you can understand for once." You snort, scratching at that place Neet likes, right between her wings. Just because she _can_ shapeshift thanks to that lil' visit from her distant cousin or whatever doesn't mean she will, though—according to Neet, the most comfortable possible form she can take is avian, and she almost never bothers to speak intelligibly to anyone but you in this form. "I'm guessing this isn't just a social call, is it sweetheart?" 

Neet grumbles when you ask the question, but doesn't answer until you take your hand away from her glossy black feathers. Even then she puts it off so she can peck at your fingers first. 

"Ow." 

"Deserve it." 

"Uh-huh, sure I do." Not like it hurt anyway. "So are you interested in bouncing ideas for party planning, or did Dave need something?" 

"Nope." She rearranges her wings, preening a few errant feathers down before fixing you with one bright eye. "Boys are doing something." 

"Yeah? Which ones?" 

"Hal. Dirk." 

"Ah." That's...hm. "And Dave sent you, or..." 

"Doesn't know. Not yet." 

Okay, yep, that means it's time to go investigate. If they're not including him in the current shenanigans, that could mean that _they_ think it's dangerous and _you're_ going to think it's absolutely fucking batshit. "Reaux, I gotta go—the twins are about to commit crimes or something—" 

_"Oh, by all means head that off. Feel free to send whichever of mine are aiding and abetting home as well."_

"Careful what you offer, or I'll start sending mine for you to deal with too." You blow her a kiss, then hold your arm out for Neet to hop onto. "Alright, my darling daughter, let's go stop them from starting the next international war, shall we?" 

"Dramatic bastard," she rasps out as she settles herself on your wrist. Well, it's not like _that's_ wrong.

* * *

Dirk and Hal are holed up in their room, you find as Neet directs you. Could be concerning, could be fine. The deer-in-the-headlights look that Hal briefly gives you sort of suggests it's the former, though. Then again, that look could just be because you're not supposed to know about the unfamiliar kid perched in what looks like a pile of every pillow in the damn house...a tiny redhead, watching Dirk work tap aggresively at his laptop with wide blue eyes—fuck, where the hell did they pick up a kid barely older than an actual fucking toddler?

She's hugging the big stuffed crow that Ambrose won for Dave at that street fair last month up to her chest; one hand leaves it to point at the living version, who's moved up to your shoulder. "Neet." 

"Uh-huh, she definitely is." That joke's as old as Neet herself, and she doesn't appreciate it much; having your ear pecked is definitely worse than when she got your fingers before. You only barely manage to bite back the swear word that rises as an immediate reaction, as she takes off to land safely on the edge of the pillow nest. "Dirk and Hal didn't tell me they were going to be babysitting...what's your name, darlin'? " 

"They're not," the kid informs you. Well, then. 

"We're trying to figure out how to set up protective custody that's going to be safe enough." Dirk doesn't look up from his laptop or pause the rhythm of his typing as he speaks. "Preferably without collaring her—Dia's a finder, with vestigial physical mutations that we'd rather not risk stunting. We need to keep the first set of mutations under wraps, though." 

"A finder, huh?" God, psychic mutations are just so fucking cool. Like yes, you understand that they can be hell for the people who have them—Rose in the grip of a nasty premonition comes to mind—but _still_. There's a fascinating element to them. "Physical mutations?" 

Dia giggles and pulls a handful of copper curls away from her neck; you get a glimpse of thin dark lines running parallel to her jaw before she drops them again. "I can sit at the bottom of the pool." 

"She's got gills, yeah." Hal grins and moves a handful of the photos he's sorting into piles aside before Neet can scatter them. "Webbed feet, too—we're not sure if her hands were webbed at birth and they corrected it, or if she just didn't have that one." 

"They as in her parents?" When Hal nods, you ask the obvious next question. "Who would be...where, exactly?" 

The way Hal grimaces tells you the answer, but Dia puts it into words anyway with a calm that's almost painful. "Daddy didn't want me and Mama went away, so I'm gonna find someone for Hal 'n Dirk and they're gonna find me a new mommy." 

"Oh." What do you even say to that? Wait. Back up. "Who're you finding?" 

Dirk _finally_ looks up, eyes going wide. Hal opens his mouth, closes it again, and turns to his brother. Panic signs from both of them; congratulations, you're about to figure out what Neet felt the need to warn you about, assuming that they don't just both clam up. Which they probably will. Which, knowing your kids, they _definitely_ will. 

Dia doesn't give them the chance—as soon as you ask, she reaches between the stuffed crow and herself, producing a photo and holding it out. Her nails are painted soft pink, you notice as you take it; it's a lil' bit of irony, because in this particular picture Roxanne's are...pretty much exactly the same shade. 

Your stomach twists. 

They had to have gotten this one from Ambrose's private stash, or dug it out of the hundreds of photos you still haven't managed to go through—you haven't seen it for long enough that you don't remember it. Roxanne's alone in the shot, eyes scrunched up by the sheer magnitude of her smile, holding up a spotted kitten that's almost familiar—was it one that she rescued? One from a pet store or the shelter she spent so much time volunteering at, that she just _had_ to have you or Ambrose snap a pic of? God, why can't you remember what made her smile like that, why she was so _happy_? 

Fuck. _Fuck._

You exhale. Mentally check to be sure that your sudden and nearly physical distress doesn't show on your face. Hand the photo back to Dia with a smile. "Sounds like a great plan to me, kiddo. Hey, Hal, any chance you can take a look at my webcam for me?" 

He just nods, getting to his feet and following you out of the room as Dia goes back to petting the stuffed crow and Dirk watches you and his twin with a neutral expression and pure trepidation in his eyes. Tough shit; he can handle a little stress for long enough to sort this out. You'd think one of your two kids would have enough sense to fill you in on the shit they plan by now. 

As soon as you shut the door to the bedroom, Hal turns to face you, arms already crossed. Were you really the one who taught them to be so ready for a fight? 

Eh, maybe. "Okay—" 

"This isn't about your tech, is it." 

"No shit it's not about that." Although... "The camera still cuts out after maybe half an hour of filming, yeah, especially on video calls, but that's beside the point." 

"Damn, it's probably the shit Roxy installed on everything to get us free streaming. I'll remove it later—" 

"No more awards shows with behind the scenes commentary?" 

"D." Hal sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "You can _literally_ attend those." 

"Fair, but you know I'd be the one on the shame reel." 

"Wouldn't that be nice. Just watch on your phone and use the screen mirror option." 

"Oh?" You have no idea what that means, but a bit of researching should clear it right up. Later, though. Right now it's time to get back on track. "Okay. Walk me through what you're doing here, Hal. No stalling, no bullshit. I'm serious now." 

"Yeah, I know." Hal makes a face, reaching up to run one hand through his hair. You can hear the crackle of static electricity, almost see the sparks leap from spiky white hair to nearly-as-pale skin; he's stressed, as much or more than Dirk. Which means...well, it could mean a lot of things. "It's simple enough that I don't think you need an actual walkthrough, though. We're just...finding someone, D. We do it all the time. We're _good_ at it. It's fine, not worth getting all worked up over." 

"Uh-huh, yeah, except this isn't just some mutant kid you're looking for—" 

"Technically, she is," Hall interjects much too reasonably. "She wouldn't even be the oldest person we've ever gotten out of a situation—" 

"—it's your aunt. Roxanne." Your sister. Ambrose's twin. Oh, fuck. "Did you tell anyone else about this whole idea yet?" 

"We're not _stupid._ " He actually sounds offended, although you do wonder how much of that's a performance for your benefit. "Neet knows, obviously—" 

"Well yeah, she knows everything." 

"Or she'll make you think she does. I assume that's who tipped you off?" 

"Bingo. How likely is this to work?" 

"We're going to find her." He _knew_ you were going to ask that. Either your kids are getting better at anticipating your attempts to take them by surprise, or you're just getting old and predictable. "That's not a question. Dia...she can find any _one_ , and just about any _thing_. We spent hours testing her." 

"So—" 

"So we'll find Roxanne wherever she is, dead or alive." 

He won't meet your eyes. It's funny, almost, because Hal knows all the tricks for seeming to look at someone without really making eye contact—hell, he learned them from Dirk, and you taught _him_ those when he was barely older than Dia—and he's _trying_ to use them, but it's not working. Not really. He's blinked maybe four times in the few seconds since he said that, and every time his eyes have flicked to any point that's _not_ your face. 

Ah. You know that look, come to think of it. "Hey. C'mere, Hal. Come here." 

He doesn't even hesitate when you spread your arms. God, you remember when you were doing this with a toddler; what the hell happened?

Stupid question. Time happened, of course. It always does and it always will, and the best you can do right now is to _focus_ on right now—specifically on how still Hal is, with his face buried in your shoulder and your arms around him. He's not Dirk—Dirk would already be uncomfortable with being confined like this, fighting to pull away or fighting to keep himself from _trying_ to—but you're still careful not to hold him as tight as you would Reaux or Dave or the girls. 

You _could_ probably ask, but you don't. You just hold him and wait, and that works just fine after a moment. 

"She might be dead," Hal murmurs without even trying to move back from you. "I don't—we couldn't just tell you, when there's—a chance that all Dia is pointing us to is a grave somewhere, a fucking evidence locker or something..." 

Your chest goes tight at that concept being put into words. Losing a sibling...you don't do well with that. Maybe no one would. But then again, you really lost her years ago, didn't you? 

Ambrose won't see it that way for even a minute, though. Damn. 

"D?" Hal asks, and that's not much to read emotion out of his voice from but you still catch the faint tremor in the single syllable. You give him one last squeeze and let go, pulling him back to arm's length so he can see your face and you can see his. 

"Okay. It's okay, Hal—you two are doing just fine. You know what you're doing, everything's fine. I'm going to let you _keep_ doing what you're doing now—" 

"You're going to go tell Ambrose, aren't you." 

Dammit. "Carefully, but yes." 

Hal sighs. You can almost see the gears turning in his head. "Are you going to tell him—" 

"That you're trying. That's all." All the possibilities beyond finding her alive and not finding her at all can just...get swept under the rug for now. "Do me a favor and make sure Dirk knows no one's in the doghouse over this?" 

"Oh, definitely." Hal flashes you a reasonably-honest smile as he turns back to the door. "Can't have him thinking shit's about to hit the fan—that could impact his ability to forge documents, after all." 

"...right. Play nice, Hal."

* * *

Ambrose is easy to find, for once—the door to his room's cracked open a few inches, and he's sitting in the middle of the newly-uncarpeted floor with what looks like a partially dismantled Xbox and pieces of a half-dozen other consoles carefully arranged on the floor around him in a series of spreading arcs. "...okay, I see today you're either playing Frankenstien or God." 

"Same thing." He doesn't even look up from the tiny circuit board he's considering. "Like, Frankenstein implies an element of hubris or some shit, but on the other hand? Daring to call yourself a god has the exact same fuckin' thing—" 

"You've been arguing with Reaux again, haven't you?" 

Ambrose looks up, flashing you an almost guilty smile as he sets the circuit board back into its place in the pattern. "Close—book club. The troll kids haven't read all the pretentious classic shit, and I thought it'd be fun to hop in and watch the chaos." 

"Oh, hey, I want in on that." You can only imagine, say...Kankri's reaction to human literature. That alone is worth whatever your sister's set as the price of admission. "But like, later. I need to talk to you right now." 

"Ah, shit." Ambrose grimaces and holds his hands up, letting you see that he's set aside his distractions even if he's still seated in the middle of his work. "Who did what this time?" 

"Well..." You probably should have thought this conversation out at least a little in advance. "The twins have a new project. They picked up a little girl off that helpline they run—" 

"Fuck." His expression goes from neutral to painfully dismayed. "Little like an actual kid, huh?" 

"Five or six, yeah." 

"God, poor thing." 

"Yeah. They're working on custody arrangements, but like." Okay. This is where you deal with the pertinent information. This is also where shit could go downhill. "She's got location powers, right?" 

"A finder." 

"Exactly. She's going to find someone for the twins before she leaves." 

Ambrose pulls a face that it takes you a moment to identify. When you do, you almost laugh—he's fucking _pouting._ "Why the fuck don't they ask me for help? I _know_ Hal doesn't know all my tricks for tracking shit down, good as he is—" 

"Because it's Roxanne." When all else fails, you guess you default back to the old Strider standby of bluntness. "Dia has one of the old photos of her, I'm guessing...they're going to use it to triangulate, or something. They've already tried tracking her down digitally—I know you worked with them on that. That way doesn't _work_. This is—it might not work still, but—" 

"But they might find Roxanne," Ambrose says, very softly. He's gone completely still there on the floor, hands in his lap and head tipped back to stare up at you. There's no expression on his face yet, not even the fear and hope you know he's feeling. "You wouldn't be telling me if you didn't think there was a decent chance, D." 

"There's a chance. Yeah." 

"Yeah. So why are _you_ the one telling me?" 

Damn. Of course he's going to ask that. "I found out on accident, so I get to clue you in." When he just gives you an exasperated look—you really didn't answer the question he meant to ask, after all—you stifle a sigh and keep talking. "Look, you know they hate it when someone finds out they failed at anything they've tried—" 

"Yeah, runs in the fuckin' family." Ambrose shakes his head and reaches for a piece of dismembered electronics, frowning at it for a moment. "I'm gonna just...finish this. Keep me updated?" 

"You got it, bro."


	4. Chapter 4

artificialIntellect [AI] created the chat "Reunion Time."!

artificialIntellect added tentacleTherapist, timeausTestified tipsyGnostalgic, and turntechGodhead to the chat!

artificialIntellect invited technoGrandmaster to the chat!

TG: well since u picked the right handle for me i'm guessing y'all know what ur dealing with, so...  
TG: what do you want.  
TG: keep in mind that i'm gonna crash ALL your shit once you start in with the threats tho. like that's deff a thing. i've got waaaay better shit to do than, y'know...pretend to be even a LIL bit worried about that kinda shit.  
TG: just sayin.

AI: Look, our firewalls are designed to keep the government and half a dozen more competent groups who want to kill out out. I don't think fucking us over would be quite that easy.

TG: what he means is were not gonna threaten u actually  
TG: hals gotta make EVERYTHING a pissing contest sometimes  
TG: too much time w dirk gives him brainrot lmao

TT: Not to say I cause brainrot, of course.

TG: no dude thats exactly what theyre saying sorry  
TG: like he gives you brainrot too  
TG: it does go both ways

TT: It's a sibling thing.

TG: ...alright fine i'll bite then since y'all aren't gonna get to the point on your own obviously.  
TG: who the fuck are you?  
TG: well other than the obvious answer of "a pack of twelve year olds w/wifi access."

AI: I can't fucking believe that it's been this long since we got Dave, and we _still_ get instantly pegged as being preteens.  
AI: Like, what's with that? Is there just something about the act of creating and implementing plans that most "actual adults" haven't managed to pull off that people associate with literal kids? Because let me just say that if that's the truth then people really need to take actual children more seriously.

TG: hal why did u put the air quotes there exactly??? 

AI: That's beside the point.

TG: yah well ur doing a shitty job of proving u have one of those.

TT: His point is that you're not exactly easy to find, Roxanne.  
TT: We should know; we've been looking for you since we were old enough to understand how to work a seach engine.

AI: Not that the effort helped.

TG: ffs  
TG: u really ARE kids huh?

TG: well yeah, just...

TG: special kids  
TG: hey as much as i hate being the one who comes right out and says shit i guess thats my job right now huh  
TG: like i think these dumbasses are just gonna keep dancing around it and youre gonna follow through on the cyberattack thing and nobodys gonna like that yknow  
TG: so like uh  
TG: hi aunt roxanne

TG: ...  
TG: fuck. no.  
TG: shit.

TT: Hello, mother.

TG: if this is a joke it isn't fucking funny  
TG: how the hell did you get this handle?

AI: We asked D.  
AI: Well, Dirk and I asked D. Rose and Roxy double-checked with Reaux.

TT: Ambrose was supposed to be left out of the loop for obvious reasons, but D didn't exactly cooperate with that.

TG: dirk you fuckin idiot she doesnt know what the obvious reasons are

TG: oh i know he'd kill me.  
TG: u can just like...say that.

TT: No.

TG: thats bro  
TG: not ambrose

TG: ...davey  
TG: right? ur davey?  
TG: baby i know u know ambrose is just ur bros full name, c'mon.

TT: It's...complicated. But there _is_ a difference.  
TT: It boils down to Ambrose being like you.

AI: Well, like us.

TG: i mean  
TG: so was bro  
TG: like hes a mutant like us  
TG: being a fucking bastard doesnt take that away

TG: wait wait wait, back up?

TT: He's an abusive, bigoted bastard, but yes, Dave's right.

TG: what do you MEAN he's a mutant??

TG: we mean hes as much a mutant as i am

AI: Although Ambrose is closer to who you remember, Roxanne.   
AI: Like. Literally. The timespan he was cloned from is very close to the last contact you had with him.

TG: ...cloned.

TT: With full recall up to the point of DNA harvesting, as far as we can tell.  
TT: He found out about the mutation after that, of course.

TG: ok so the CLONE version of my bro's the mutant?

TG: oh no the prime was too  
TG: well is  
TG: anyway neither him or me realized we were like that because our powers kinda complement or cancel out or whatever  
TG: wade noticed right away though

TG: is it worth it to ask who the fuck wade is.

TG: ds boyfriend

AI: Deadpool.

TG: WHAT.  
TG: alright u gotta be shitting me at this point, kiddo.  
TG: speaking of which who even are u? i got dirk dave roxy and  
TG: rose  
TG: but ur not one of ours are you?

TT: No, he is. Hal. _My_ twin.

AI: Well, sort of.  
AI: I get a little closer to "not actually human" than most mutants do.

TG: eh still twins

AI: True.  
AI: Oh, and speaking of twins...

artificialIntellect added royaltyReincarnate to the chat!

AI: Oh, Dirk didn't like that. Gotta go.

artificialIntellect kicked timaeusTestified from the chat!  
artificialIntellect left the chat!

TT: I think that's our cue to make this a private conversation, don't you?

TG: oh yep

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TG: you good amby?

RR: oh god  
RR: I  
RR: yeah. yeah, I'm fine. I got it.

TG: alright

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TG: ...amby, huh?  
TG: that's a new one.

RR: had to, uh. drop bro as a name.  
RR: rox I'm so fucking sorry.

TG: oh  
TG: bro c'mon don't do that, we both know how much you hate apologizing.

RR: yeah well, turns out actually admitting you fucked up and apologizing for it is a fucking crucial life skill. who knew?  
RR: well, other than every decent human being in existence.  
RR: I was a fucking horrible asshole that chased off my own sister because she knew how I'd be if I found out about  
RR: the mutant thing.

TG: bro you were barely in the picture on the decision to leave

RR: yeah? how about the decision to wipe yourself off the face of the earth and never come back to us?

TG: ...

RR: ...yeah.  
RR: I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry.

TG: it still wasn't just u.  
TG: like—people HURT, bro. always.  
TG: it's so loud. it's so loud being anywhere near anyone—i thought i was gonna die when it started getting strong.  
TG: like i wasn't, it'd be a stupidass power if it straight out killed me every time i got within thirty feet of anybody, but it's still—  
TG: it was bad enough w just reaux n the girls, once the alcohol quit working to drown it out. i couldn't—  
TG: fuck.

RR: couldn't imagine what it'd be like if you were listening to my bigoted ass.

TG: wasn't gonna say that.

RR: you should. not like it's not the goddamn truth, right?  
RR: did the kids tell you?

TG: davey said ur a clone, yeah.

RR: yeah, that too. physically anyway; mentally it's, uh. complicated.  
RR: mostly the clone thing just means you're definitely the older twin now. ten years difference, maybe?  
RR: the kids know better than I do. thinking about it too much...I can't. not if I don't want to have to spend a week putting myself back together again.  
RR: but the mutant thing.  
RR: super speed and pretty damn decent healing.  
RR: well. mostly decent.  
RR: patches me up, doesn't always clear up the scars. at least jeff still thinks they're hot. ish.

TG: awww. ur still w jeff?

RR: I mean, technically I think it's I'm _back_ with him, but yeah.  
RR: we broke up when I, you know. ditched the family.

TG: yeah.  
TG: right after i did.

RR: it's not the same.  
RR: I was a selfish bastard, you just...wanted to not fucking die.  
RR: the kids have collars. ones that don't fuck with your head or your body.  
RR: like, I wore one for...fuck, not quite a year?

TG: if i ask how come are u gonna bullshit me?

RR: no  
RR: the speedster shit...it's a reflex, some of the time. I can't just _not_ do it. I—  
RR: bro. not me, but bro. he only moved like that when he was going to hurt dave.  
RR: dave—I'd slip up and move faster than I should be able to, and he'd look at me, maybe he'd flinch but it's just as bad when all he did was _look_ and I knew I might as well have done it. I might as well have been the one who trained him into that, knowing how to be ready to dodge a punch or pick up a sword to block a  
RR: fuck.  
RR: plus the twins didn't trust me. not at first. my collar was rigged with a kill switch and it, uh. ended up malfunctioning a lil bit. freak accident kinda thing.  
RR: I still got a collar, I just...sort of don't wear it outside of therapy. I'm getting better at the control now, anyway.

TG: god i can't believe UR going to therapy. really?

RR: yeah really. wild, right?  
RR: it's, y'know. a good thing.

TG: aww i love it when u say smart things without having to be tricked into it.  
TG: but like, back to collars for a sec.  
TG: they're really safe enough that u wear one?

RR: yeah.  
RR: hal 'n dirk—they're better with the microcircuitry than I ever was, maybe even better than you used to be. they collect suppression collars from the kids off their hotline—gotta have a couple dozen different models of the damn things—spend a couple hours apiece taking them apart and a couple more putting them back together better than before.  
RR: god, you're gonna love them. all of them.  
RR: I mean.  
RR: if you want to come home.

TG: ...  
TG: we'll see, okay?  
TG: if the collar doesn't work...i can't. i just can't.

RR: I know, sis. I know.  
RR: but even if they don't have one that'll work, the kids 'n I—we'll fucking _make_ it work. I promise.

TG: aww there's my stubborn bastard of a bro. i think i missed him.

RR: yeah well I missed you too, trust me.  
RR: hey. hal? I know you're monitoring this—came talk to her about what you need to do to set shit up for finding out if the collar's gonna work, yeah?

Of course.

artificialIntellect added tipsyGnostalgic and turntechGodhead to the chat!  
royaltyReincarnate left the chat!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please do not point out if i fucked up Roxanne and Ambrose's quirks; I'm aware that they might be a lil off. however if the color doesn't match whatever I used for Ambrose's before (can't remember what it was or what fic it was in) feel free to let me know so I can fix it!


	5. Chapter 5

Disconnecting like that...it was stupid. _Stupid._ Sends the wrong message—like you're saying you don't want to be part of the planning phase, don't wanna do your damnedest to make actual, physical, in-person contact with her again. Which—god, you want that more than anything else, you just...

You're shaking. Your hands are shaking so damn bad that you can't believe no typos slipped through. That was her, that was _Roxanne_ , it's been so fucking long—years, and you finally, finally got to speak with her again. 

Fuck. Just waiting isn't doing the trick—you need something to steady your hands, and you finished your last project a couple days ago. Cal's the next go-to option; you lean over to retrieve his box from under the bed, dropping it on the floor as you lift him out and smooth the fabric of his shirt down. He needs a new one, honestly; you don't really bear Houston any loyalty anymore, and you don't have the excuse of proximity to leave him kitted out in Astros colors. Could pick something other than the stupid blue 'n orange. Hell, maybe you could even give him a fresh new coat of makeup while you're at it, spend a lil' money on the right kind of paints to redo his face—even if you're never going to be able to just have him out 'n chilling in the open, maybe you could mitigate Dave's panic on the rare occasions when he _does_ catch a glimpse of your puppet. 

Plus those lil' holes, the two pinpricks worn wider by the years when your earrings were pinned to Cal's chest—those wouldn't be there. One less reminder for you to see every time you pull him out for comfort. 

Your thoughts skip and cross-connect at the idea of a _reminder_ , back to why you're sitting here with a puppet on your lap in the first place. Roxanne, and hanging up on her. Well, the chat version of hanging up on her, anyway. 

You need to pick up your phone. Drop back into the chat. Watch, if you can't manage to participate without fucking shit up. Just—

The door to your room is half-open, like it almost always is these days. Hal still knocks, and the sound does a decent job of startling you out of your thoughts. The kid just barely covers up his smile at the way you instinctively drop Cal and grab the pillow to hide him with before you see just who it is, though. 

"I don't mind looking at him, don't worry." Hal stops in the doorway until you wave him in; then he comes over to settle on the very end of the bed, legs pulled up and arranged underneath himself. Reminds you of how Roxy sits, more than Dirk or D or even yourself. "Roxanne wanted to fully disable her security system; she's a bit worried about my making a full intrusion while it's still up, now that she knows exactly what I am." 

Something in his voice—amusement, if you had to guess—makes you smile. "You think you can get around it all just fine, huh?" 

"Oh, come _on_." The dramatic eye-roll is worth another grin, even if you smother this one. "I had to go in to set up the chat, Ambrose. Physical intrusion isn't that much different—she doesn't have anything up that could even slow me down, really." 

Cocky lil' bastard. Must run in the family, because you remember being _exactly_ like that until your twin took it upon herself to take you down a few notches. 

"Don't be too sure about that." For all of his composure, Hal still squawks as you reach across to ruffle his white hair. Zaps you too, a light jolt of static that leaves your fingers tingling as you draw back again. "Roxanne's always had a thing for traps—I've seen her take down world-class hackers without them ever knowing what hit them." 

"Oh?" Hal settles down again, smoothing his hair back (it's very hard for you to not watch in fascination as it rises into the same kind of sharp spikes that you spent a few years cultivating with the decidedly less cool assistance of hair gel) and cocking his head to the side. "I'll have to see about having her give me a few lessons, then." 

"D should love that." You're not even being sarcastic; it'll give the twins a few more ways to get themselves out of the trouble they constantly get into. "How long before you get the collar to her?" 

"Maybe an hour or two. Actually, call it at least two—we'll need to run a few tests before we expose her to anyone with strong emotions." 

"Yeah." Like yours, if she wants to see you. _If._

"Do you want a collar?" 

"Uh—what?" 

"Do you want one of the collars," Hal repeats, very patiently. "You tend to lose control of the speed a little bit when you're emotional—I don't know how either of you are going to react if you get faster than normal when you see her, is all." 

"Hal, you don't even know if she'll want to see me at all, let alone when—" 

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Hal makes a face and leans across to poke at the bare skin of your arm, just below where the sleeve of your t-shirt comes to an end. Again, the mild jolt of electricity is a surprise, enough that you can't quite stifle a yelp. "She misses you, Ambrose. She trusts _you_ more than any of us. Idiot." 

"But—" 

Hal holds up his index finger in a half-serious warning. Okay, fine, you get it—no accepting the worst before it happens. You get it. 

"Start a project," he says, when you close your mouth and keep it shut. "You'll have a little while to work on it, and it'll keep you from panicking any more than you already are. Go find D, if you need to—I'd send Dave, but we need him to be the one to hand over the collar, sorry—" 

"Don't be; y'all're doing great." Sending Dave is a smart move; you know that he's capable of escaping telepathic surveillance and influence when he wants or needs to. "I'll be fine, Hal. Just text me if you need me." 

Hal grins, bright and cocky and still somehow reassuring. " _When_ , Ambrose. Not if. I'll see you in a bit."


	6. Chapter 6

It takes you too fuckin' long to work up the nerve to step through the portal Roxy's set in the doorway to Dirk and Hal's closet. Maybe ten or fifteen seconds altogether, if you'd bothered to count. Sure, it's not a lot in the grand scheme of things, but you know it's more than enough for the kids to notice, for Dave to frown in (probably) concern, for Dirk to open his mouth to ask you a question. Something along the lines of _are you okay_ or _do you need a minute_ , maybe even _are you sure you want to do this_ , if you had to guess. 

You don't wait around to find out which one it is. Instead, you straighten your shoulders, let out a slow breath that just reminds you of the loose pressure of the collar around your neck (maybe you're not quite so over the shitshow with your doppleganger as you thought, because you're way too aware of the stupid thing right now) and close your eyes for the step through the darkness. 

And you leave them closed, even when you feel the air change, from the dead stillness of the void between one end of Roxy's portal and the other, to the faint but still noticeable movement of air against your face. Open your eyes, you fuckin' dumbass—you want to see her, right? 

Yeah. Yeah, you do. Doesn't make it any easier to _look_. 

Then Roxanne says, "Ohholyfuck _bro_ ," all one word, no space in between, no breath in her voice at all, and you open your eyes in the second before she closes the distance and hits you with an embrace that nearly sends you staggering back through the portal. She's always been a few inches taller than you—that's the same. The way her fingers dig into your shoulders is—it's familiar, but more from Davesprite and Davepeta than from any memory of your twin herself; she's never had a reason to grab you like this, hold you so tight you can feel the pressure in your bones. 

Not that you're being any easier on her. If it was up to you, you wouldn't let go at all. Roxanne has other ideas, though; after a moment she gets her hands up on your shoulders, pulls you back to arm's length to study your face. 

Alright, yeah, you'll take that. Lets you get a look at her too—she looks older in the same way D did the first time you saw him after the empty room in the lab, a blend of what you remember and what you told yourself to expect. Her eyes are exactly the same, though, that deep and lovely color that pictures never quite captured. 

"Ambrose," she says, and yeah, her voice is a lil' different. Rougher, you think. You wonder how much of that is just her trying not to cry; you sort of think you wouldn't exactly sound like yourself if you opened your mouth right now. You do that anyway, and close it again as her hand moves up to the side of your face. "Aww. You still have the earrings." 

"Uh-huh." It's all you can manage. Right now, you can't even _see_ , let alone speak. 

"This is new, though." _This_ is one of the scars from the empty apartment back in Houston, a thin white line across your left temple that never really faded away like most of the rest of them. She lets her fingers brush across it, cups your face in her palm for a moment, then slides that hand down to your neck, to touch the collar. " _This_ is new. Yours isn't as shiny as the one they gave me—" 

"You got one of the newer ones." Dirk's aesthetics have taken a turn recently, back to sleek polished chrome instead of the black matte finish the collar around your neck has. You sort of like the original, honestly. "Roxanne—" 

"Holy shit, you got _another_ scar under this?" 

"Oh. Yeah, that's one of the ones that pretty much killed me, but—" 

"Ohhhh, no, bro, you are _not_ moving on from that like it's not an absolutely batshit thing to say." 

"It _almost_ killed me, Rox, it's not—" 

"That's not what you said! You said—" 

For fuck's sake. You could be here all day trying to sort this shit out, explain what happened and how...or you could take, let's say a bit of a shortcut. The kind of shortcut specific to this situation, to you and your twin. 

You step back, out of her grip, and tap the collar around your own neck. "Take it off? Yours, I mean." 

Roxanne _freezes_. Goes perfectly still, eyes wide and fixed on you—god, that's a look you haven't seen for a long time. The long hair makes it worse; you're used to her with an undercut, with short hair, with any other color—it's like being kicked back a couple decades in time, like having the ground drop out from under your feet. "I—bro, I'm not gonna do that to you." 

"Roxanne." You shrug and spread your hands. "I got nothing to hide. I promise." Easier than trying to just tell her exactly who you are. _What_ you are. 

She's still looking at you with that face that fucks you up more than most shit should. "Bro—" 

"I'm serious." You're also on the verge of tears, for some fucking reason. "It's—look, you don't have to, but it'd be...easier." 

"Easier?" That comes out sounding weird; you don't know why, not until Roxanne follows it up with a barely-stifled laugh. Not a good one, either. "You want me—literally in your _head_ because it's, it's _easier_?" 

Well. Yeah, you guess you could expand on that lil' statement quite a bit. Could explain that there's no real way you can find words for who you are, not without exhausting even her supply of patience with false starts and sidetracks. Could say...well, something more than calling this _easier_ , like it's some kind of cop-out. 

But no. You literally cannot say any of that right now. Instead you shrug again, shifting to hold out your hands palm-out in the same gesture you would have used to say _hit me_ in those days when the two of you took turns learning self-defense techniques and teaching them to each other. 

Fuck. That's been longer for her than for you. For a second you worry—maybe she straight out won't remember. 

Then Roxanne lets out a breath and reaches up, pulling hair that's longer than you've ever seen it but still that same shade of platinum blonde that no one ever believes didn't come out of a bottle up and away from her neck, just enough to access the clasp of the collar. 

Funny. You don't feel anything as she unclips it. You know that active telepathy has a _feeling_ that goes with it—sure, you had a concussion when you met Charles Xavier, but that didn't fuck with your memory bad enough that you can't remember. 

Shit, that's not the memory you should be focusing on right now. Wrong near-death experience, Ambrose. 

"Oh, I _really_ don't like that you act like you've had more than one of those," Roxanne murmurs, blinking too fast and still not taking her eyes off you. Well, you guess that answers the question of whether she's paying attention. 

Dammit, concentrate. 

You think of the lab. The room you spent too long in—you still don't know how long it was even if the twins could give you an answer down to minutes. Davesprite, how you spent so god damn _long_ wondering if he was just a product of your own drugged-up mind, Dave's ghost, whatever...Dave himself, the first time you saw him, the first memory you have of him that isn't a copy or something inherited but _Dave_ , standing in the doorway with an alien and looking at you like—

"An _alien_?" 

"I—yeah, it's complicated. Ask D, they got here before I did." 

"...huh." Roxanne frowns, fidgeting with the catch to the collar. "Do you want me to, uh..." 

"One more minute." She's got to want to stop, you know, but you have a few more things you want her to understand. 

The videos that Hal and Dirk showed you at the metal table in the interview room at the lab, for one. What you could have done to Dave, what the man you almost were _did_ do to him, what happened to him in the apartment in Texas over the years you'll never remember and what happened to you years later that you wish you could forget, in the stupid fucking rooms empty of everything but you and a handful of weapons and the man you're only an echo of. She needs to understand, she needs to _know_ who you are, what you've done, what you could have done—

_Click._

"Bro, Ambrose, stop." Oh, hey, at some point you redirected your line of sight from Roxanne to the floor. Your vision's so blurred that you'd see movement and color and no details even if you _weren't_ looking down at your feet; raising your head isn't exactly on the table right now. "Hey. Hey..." 

Looking up isn't an option, but you can't fight Roxanne when she slides her hands along the sides of your face, holding you with all the careful delicacy that she's use for one of the painstakingly-crafted sculptures Rose used to build out of folded paper and glue. She makes you tilt your head up and you let her, but you close your eyes because you can't, you can't, you _can't_...

Roxanne's thumb skates across your cheek and you bite your lip to hold in a sound that's equal parts pain and shame and something so close to hope you can't think. You're already weeping, there ain't a lot you can do about that, but at least you can be _quiet_ about it. 

"Breathe, bro." 

Or you could not do that. If you don't hold the air in your lungs, keep it in, keep _everything_ in...

No. No, you can't. You let out the breath and sob in another one, grabbing for your twin's arms before you can stop yourself. Even if you would have tried to stop after that first second she doesn't let you; your hands find her shoulders and she wraps her own around you, pulling you in and holding you tight like no one else ever could, like she never would for anyone but you. And you cling to her, of fucking course you do—it's Roxanne, it's the other half of yourself, your _sister_ , your _twin._

Home. You're home. Wholly and completely, the last piece of your family finally back where she belongs.


End file.
